


Oh, How the Innocent have Fallen

by johnfuxkslarry



Category: The Godfather (1972 1974 1990)
Genre: Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1364242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnfuxkslarry/pseuds/johnfuxkslarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Michael Corleone stand on the porch of his Nevada home, he remembers what life used to be like for him, and how it will be in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, How the Innocent have Fallen

The stars dotted the dead, velvet sky; lifeless point on the horizon. A swirling flow of smoke trailed upwards and reached its’ wispy hands toward the points. Michael Corleone took another drag from his cigar, solemnly gazed at the inky lake in front of him and then shuddered at the wracking sobs coming from Kay inside. Not long ago it had been him in there, taking swipes at her frail, leering body. Oh, how he had fallen! Michael remembered the young man he’d once been; brave, poignant, loyal, innocent-well that last one to a certain extent. One could only remain so innocent while driving speeding, hot pieces of lead into Japs. That was the same young man who, years ago, stood on a different continent, wary of the explosions and gun shots behind him and quietly stared up at the same white points on the pitch black sky above him now. Michael Corleone was no longer that boy, wishing to go back to New York and see his father, the silent, deadly man who had clawed his way from the dregs of Sicilian-American society. A man of his word, Vito Corleone would never have hesitated at killing a man who threatened the safety of his family- so why did Michael hesitate now? 

The cold wind blew across the lake and in the distance birds cawed, awaiting their next meal. Michael envied them, their only concerns upon their own well-being, not that of those dependant on them. He tried to remember how this had all started, not long ago he’d been the dutiful brother at Connie’s wedding, trying to stay connected with his family and break away at the same time. The result was a stand-still; a scene in which Michael had to watch play out. But, when his father had been shot- God. Emotions flared and no thought was put into his next actions. He certainly hadn’t wanted to be coddled, but he hadn’t wanted to be thrown into an immediate abyss of pain and suffering either. Michael Corleone had killed two men. It was where it had all started; his life, a never ending marathon of death and fear. Constantly running from the authorities, constantly confronting his enemies. When Vito Corleone died, not much was salvageable. Michael immediately became the Don. The new Godfather. God, just thinking it made him want to retch. 

The night began to turn colder as he tapped some of the ash off his cigar. The blinking pin-pricks in the night sky stared down at him, penetrating his trembling body with fear of the unknown, of the infinite options that lay before him. Michael Corleone was a dead man; he’d been dead since that night he’d killed those men, a soulless vessel of self-hatred and greed. He’d come out to the balcony that night to make a decision for the Family. He wouldn’t talk to Tom about this- no. Tom wouldn’t understand, even though he’d been Consigliere to both Michael and his father, Tom was still so pure of heart. He wouldn’t understand why Fredo needed to die, after all, Tom was no Sicilian. A bubbling heat rising to his stomach, Michael resigned himself to the feeling of utter hatred he possessed for Fredo. The man was his brother! Anyone, however, who threatened the safety of the Family must die, there was no excuse. 

Tomorrow, Fredo would find that he would not be going fishing with his nephew, but with one of Michael’s men. He would die as the sun went down, the red-orange illuminating his hunched back as he was in the middle of one of his Hail-Marys. Michael could envision it only too well; the last pure part of him shuddered. He had become worse than his father, if that was possible. Would Vito Corleone killed his own brother if he threatened the safety of the Family? It was impossible to know. Surely his father would have wanted to protect the Family, but at what cost? Murdering the man who possessed the same flesh and blood as he did? Vito probably would have shipped Fredo off to Sicily; protection would have gone to both parties. There was no time for that now, it was either Fredo;s death or the elimination of the Family and all people in it. Fredo had broken his Omerta. This was for the best. The night swirled around him, the lamps in the distance, the heavy smoke of his cigar, the twinkling lights above all whirling into a silent wind of destruction, misery and godlessness. The East wind takes us all in the end, thought Michael. His soul had been dragged into this whirlpool of suffering long ago and it was unlikely he would ever escape. Along with him, his family would also be pulled into the void. 

His beautiful, innocent daughter and his handsome, loyal son; the next leaders of the Family. Michael hung his head; it was a fate worse than death to lose your innocence to the faceless entity that was the Mafia. He wished he could escape; jump in a boat and paddle across the glass surface of the lake, away from all the lies he’d spun trying to protect those he loved. Every time he told a falsehood, it felt like a hot lash against his back. With each strike of the proverbial whip, the strike came closer and closer to hitting bone; a reverberating chord, striking throughout his being and ringing true with what his consciousness had told him. Michael Corleone had never been a good man. No, Michael Corleone had long ago been tied in with a fate that did not allow him to be a good man. They were devout Catholics, but never would his family be pure of heart. Maybe in the future he would try to strike a deal with the Vatican, get some kind of recognition in the Church. But that was the future and at the moment, Michael needed to focus on the present. Even though he knew he was not a good man, he had always tried to make the decisions that would harm the least amount of people. Often those plans did not work but-but today-they had to. This decision had to work out for the sake of the Family and his family. Oh, who was he kidding? The Family was his family, no longer was there a difference. 

As Michael Corleone stubbed out his cigar, the final dregs of dense, grey smoke drifted towards the sky. The new Godfather displayed a grimace as he looked over the still lake. Slowly, Michael turned towards the glass doors behind him and walked towards the orange and yellow light of inside. It was at that moment that Michael Corleone turned away from his gloomy past and towards the dark, beckoning void that was his future. “Oh, how the innocent have fallen!” shouted a tiny voice in his head and to it another replied, “Look how the guilty are dragged with them.”


End file.
